


Apprentice Week 2018

by SerenityLost



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityLost/pseuds/SerenityLost
Summary: A collection of ficlets about my Arcana apprenticeKori, based on a short prompt for different days of the week. Apprentice Week is hosted bythearcanaweekon tumblr.





	1. Magic: The Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which not everything is as it seems._

The market is lively today, filled with vibrant people and colorful clothing. The bustle and chatter has a pleasant, raucous hum to it. Merchants hawks their wares, friends huddle and gossip, and children run about underfoot. The sun shines brightly overhead, and the scents of fresh-baked goods and aromatic herbs and spices waft lazily through the warm air.

You let yourself be swept along by the current of moving bodies, maneuvering gently so you arrive before a merchant’s table, littered with a profuse variety of herbs. You begin to sift through the plants, looking for the ones you need.

“I wouldn’t buy the mandrake here if I were you. It’s a weak variety. Hardly worth the coin.”

A stranger sidles up to you, bright eyes catching your own. Her appearance is mercenary, swords strapped to her back and scars decorating her skin, but the expression dancing on her face is easy, playful in its warmth.

“Hey now!” the herb merchant objects sharply. “I’ll not have you slandering my merchandise!”

“Oh relax, Savras, it’s only one herb. Besides, your best product has always been the damiana. Wouldn’t buy it anywhere else.” She flashes a dazzling smile at the merchant, and you can see them visibly relax. There’s a tingle in the air, but before you can place it, it’s gone.

The stranger leans over the stall, her dark hair falling and trailing across the table, then pulls back, a flash of yellow in her hand. Before you have time to react, there’s a bundle of bright yellow flowers directly under your nose, proffered for you with a small flourish.

“What do you think, friend? Is this not the loveliest damiana you’ve ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on?”

As she speaks, her fingers brush ever-so-lightly over your forearm. Her touch feels nearly electric, making your hair stand on end in its wake. She’s fixed you with a bright smile, but there’s something sly in it too, like she’s offering you a secret.

You can’t help but smell the flowers. They are, after all, right under your nose. Their scent is spicy, and a little sweet.

“They, uh...they smell nice,” you offer, trying to collect your thoughts.

She brings the bundle to her own face and sniffs, her eyes never leaving your own. “They do, don’t they?” She sets them gently back on the table. Her smile dances as she watches you, and she catches her lower lip briefly between her teeth.

“I’m Kori, by the way.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the merchant cuts in before you have the chance.

“So, you gonna buy those or what?”

Kori glances over at them, then back to you, looking unsure. She tosses a hand into the air in an emphatic shrug.

Suddenly, you feel something shove up against your hip. You look down, startled...but there’s nothing there.

“Oh!” Kori yelps. She’s staring past you, toward the center of the street.

You turn, following her gaze - just in time to spot a small figure slip into the crowd. You catch a glimpse of its blonde head, no higher than your waist, bobbing and weaving through the throng of people.

“Stop! Thief!” Kori pushes past you in hot pursuit.

You stumble in alarm, quickly checking your pockets, your belt. Sure enough, your purse has disappeared.

You set after the dark-haired woman, casting your eyes through the crowd as you run, looking for signs of the thief. Once or twice you could swear you glimpse a shock of blonde hair in the bustle, but each time it slips out of sight almost immediately.

Eventually, you and Kori slow your chase, coming to rest under an awning a little removed from the main thoroughfare. Both of you are a little bit breathless, and the shade is a welcome relief.

You find yourself somewhat taken aback as Kori begins to laugh, bright and airy, a joyful grin spreading across her face.

“Well, that was fun! Too bad we didn’t catch them, but hey, what can you do?”

“They _stole_ from me!” you reply indignantly, your pride wounded more than anything else.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard, friend. It’s only coin.” She lays a gentle hand on your arm. “I have an idea. Why don’t we stop buy the bar and I’ll buy you a drink? Call it, mm...a consolation for your loss.”

She winks at you cheerfully, her eyes twinkling. “After all, you still haven’t told me your name.”


	2. Love: Not the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Pre-memory-loss)  
>  In which Kori really needs a hug, and Asra has a revelation._

Asra pressed his hand to the door of the shop, feeling her magic shift and part under his fingertips. He pushed the door open and entered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d knocked - at some point he’d just...stopped, and she didn’t really seem to mind.

Bright daylight chased him into the entryway, casting stark shadows across the floor. He caught a glimpse of her in the back room, a sliver framed by soft curtains, her wild hair gleaming where the sun lay its golden touch. He stilled in the doorway, watching the light play upon her, feeling the warmth of it at his back. A soft smile took over his lips.

Eventually he turned and closed the door, casting the room into relative darkness. The curtains were all pulled shut; the only light came from a handful of small lanterns scattered throughout the space. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he blinked slowly in the dim light.

Once he could see again, he moved into the back room, pulling out his cards as he went. He rounded the table to face her and set the cards down with a smack.

“Alright, Kori. This time I’ve got it, I swear. Prepare to be blown away.”

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even blink.

“...Kori?”

No response.

Asra bent so they were face-to-face. Kori looked past him, eyes unfocused. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his brow knotting in worry.

“Kori.”

She blinked. Slowly, her eyes came to focus on his face, but they didn’t quite meet his gaze before she looked away.

“Hm? Oh, that’s great, Asra.”

Concern wound its way over his features. He knelt before her and gently placed a hand on either side of her face.

“Kori. Look at me. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” She finally met his gaze, staring blankly for a moment before she erupted into a short, shaky laugh. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Great. Perfect, in fact. Couldn’t be better.” But the smile she gave him faltered, failing to reach her eyes.

He’d...never seen her like this before. He stroked his thumbs over the sides of her face and drew in close, not knowing what was broken, not knowing how to make it better.

It was then, mere inches from her, his eyes finally growing used to the low light, that he noticed it. A stain, deep and dark, painted in broad strokes down the front of her clothing.

Red.

“You’re hurt,” he gasped in alarm. He clutched at her shirt, pulling the fabric into the light, where the still-drying stain shone a dark, murky crimson.

She shook her head, pushing his hands away. “No,” she said blankly. “It’s not mine.”

“It’s…” He looked at her face again.

“Oh.”

He sat back on his heels, closed his eyes, and let a heavy sigh escape him.

“ _Oh.”_

Kori said nothing, her eyes cast down, staring hard at the empty air.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was gentle, his gaze searching.

Kori began to shake her head again, back and forth, back and forth, her hair falling past her shoulders to trail in front of her face. Her hands gripped the edge of her stool, her knuckles turning white.

“It doesn’t matter.” She spit the words out, a harsh whisper in the quiet room. “It doesn’t matter. They-” Another wobbly laugh. “It’s not like they were the first.”

She looked up then, meeting Asra’s eyes. There was something wild in her expression, in the set of her jaw, in the intensity of her gaze. She wanted him to ask, he could feel it. So he did.

“Not the first what?”

“The first person I’ve killed.”

Her gaze bored into him, that wild look unfailing. He nodded slowly, his expression soft, holding those dappled eyes with his own. It was the answer he’d expected.

She didn’t talk much about killing. She _did_ talk about fighting, about danger and violence, about brawls in the streets and narrow escapes and deadly, thrilling pursuit. He’d found her, more than once, with gashes in her flesh - battle wounds that had healed to leave long, pale scars across her skin.

But she didn’t talk about killing. Not really. Not with this look in her eye.

Asra reached out, placing his hands over hers and prying them gently off of the stool. He drew them together before her, cupping them in his own, steadying the tremble in her fingers, his thumbs tracing soft circles into her skin.

What could he say? He didn’t know what she was feeling; all he could do was guess. Maybe the words existed, the ones that could soothe her, that could heal this wound - but he didn’t have them.

Instead, he lifted her hands to his face and placed two gentle kisses, one in each palm. He let his lips linger, soft and warm against her skin.

He felt more than saw her shuddering sigh, the way the tension rattled out of her. He looked up at her face to see that her eyes were closed.

“Asra…”

She sighed again, a deep breath blown out in a gust, like steam escaping a kettle. Her hands turned, her fingers curling around his own. She opened her eyes, looking down at their joined hands.

“It shouldn’t matter,” she said softly. “It’s not- I mean, I’ve-” Her voice broke, and she paused for another deliberate breath.

“It’s just...it- it was different, this time.” The words seemed to grow smaller and smaller as they left her throat. She lifted her gaze to lock eyes with him again, but the wild look was gone. Instead, her eyes glistened, her expression almost pleading.

Her lips opened and closed a few times, forming soundless, unfinished words. When she finally spoke, her voice was as small as he’d ever heard it.

“I’m not a good person, Asra.”

He blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open as he took in her words, her face, the tears that refused to fall, how _exposed_ she seemed before him.

Then, in the space of an instant, he shot up on his knees and wrapped his arms around her. One hand pushed into her hair, the other wound around her shoulders, and he pulled himself close, so close, until their foreheads brushed together.

He meant to say “you’re wrong.” He meant to say “you’re better than you know.” But the words that fell from his lips came of their own accord.

“I don’t care.”

He felt her shudder against him. She squeezed her eyes shut, finally allowing those tears to streak long tracks down her face. Then, eyes still closed, she pushed forward, tilting her head to bring her lips to his.

His arms tightened around her as he met the kiss. She pressed her face against him, hard, insistent. Her lips barely moved, but the force of her nearly toppled him, and he barely kept his balance as she slipped from the stool to drop into his lap.

He did his best to hold his ground, leaning into the kiss, holding her tight, tighter, as close as he could. He could feel her sharp, irregular breaths, warm against his skin where her nose dug into his face. Her wet lashes fluttered against his cheek, and her hands burrowed into the folds of his clothing. The _pressure_ of her lips against his was intense, overwhelming, as if she were trying to fuse their two faces into one.

But as suddenly as she had kissed him, she pulled away. Asra gasped as their lips parted - he found himself breathless, heart hammering and head spinning even as he swayed toward her, drawn like a puppet on a string.

Kori dropped her head to his shoulder. He could feel the remnants of tension that still gripped her, the way her body trembled in his arms. He turned to press his face to her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon, and sweat. And blood.

It was true, he realized, heart still pounding in his ears. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter what she’d done; it didn’t matter who she’d killed.

It didn’t matter, because he loved her.

He held her close, rubbing gently at her back, soothing as best he could. He listened to the sound of her breathing, erratic at first, but slowly, gradually, growing softer and steady. And slowly, gradually, his breath slowed to join her, their bodies syncing in a gentle rhythm as the tension eased away.

He loved her, he realized. He loved her.


	3. Family: Love, Emma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Pre-memory-loss)  
>  In which Kori is flighty, selfish, & irresponsible._

Dear Kori,

How are you? It feels like an age since we’ve talked. I know letters aren’t really your ‘thing’ but how else am I supposed to keep an eye on you? I’m kidding, don’t worry, I know you can ‘handle yourself’ or whatever. Just try not to get into too much trouble, OK?

So tell me about Vesuvia! What’s it like? Are the people kind there? I hear there are some nasty types in the underbelly of the city, but of course you can’t believe everything people say. How’s Aunt Violet doing? Does she still throw salt at people she doesn’t like? I’m telling you, just because something’s funny doesn’t make it any less rude. But to each their own, I suppose.

Dad & Pa are doing well. Business at the bakery has been especially good lately - Dad came up with this new pastry that has poppy seeds baked into the dough, and I guess people really like it? Pa has been trying to get me to wake up at dawn every morning to train, and I’m trying, I really am, but damn is it hard.

Anyway, I hope you’re having plenty of (safe) adventures and do tell Violet I said hello! (But don’t mention the salt thing OK?)

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

It’s been nearly a month and I haven’t heard from you, which means either you sent something and it got lost (or delayed maybe?) or - and this seems far more likely - you simply haven’t written back. Which, I mean, I get it. You’re busy, probably having the time of your life learning all this fancy magic stuff, but...nothing at all? Really? You can write something short, you know, that would be fine. I just want to know how you’re doing.

Anyway. Things are good here. We’ve got more money coming in now, what with the success of the Poppy Poppers (yes, that’s what they’re called, yes, I know it’s terrible but you know how Dad gets about these things). Dad’s been talking about saving up, expanding the shop, hiring more staff and whatnot. Not immediately, but looking toward the future, you know?

I hope you’re well. Please write back, Kori. I miss you.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Em,

Sorry I haven’t written. You know how it is. Vesuvia is great, it’s so big you wouldn’t believe it. I got into a fight with this thief the other day and he invited me to play cards with his gang downtown so that’s been fun. Also I told Aunt V about the salt thing and she thought it was hilarious. She’s not half as ornery as you make her out to be.

Take care of yourself, Em! And by that I mean don’t forget to relax every once in a while. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.

-Kori

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

It was lovely to hear from you, thank you for writing back. But how on earth can you tell me to relax when you say things like ‘I got into a fight with this thief the other day’?!! You need to be more careful, Kori. You can’t go around fighting every person you meet.

Dad’s come down with a bit of a cold so Pa and I have been managing the shop this past week. Which means we haven’t had much time to train, but we did spar yesterday and you’ll never guess what happened - I beat him, Kori! He won’t admit it, of course, but I swear to god I got in a good sideswipe before he came at me with that spin thing he does. He totally left himself open, and now he’s claiming I barely grazed him. Yeah right.

What have you been up to? (Besides getting into fights with strangers.) What kinds of things has Violet been teaching you? Can you conjure fire from your fingertips yet? Or is that not a thing? I want to hear _all_ about it! In the meantime, promise me you won’t get up to anything too dangerous, OK?

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

So Dad’s cold hasn’t cleared up yet. It’s probably nothing serious, but we’re sending for the doctor to get it checked out. Most of the time he seems OK, but he’s been coughing a lot and Pa says it’s better to be safe. It’s expensive of course but we can afford it - the bakery expansion will just take a little longer, that’s all.

I hope everything is well with you. Tell Aunt Violet I wish her well, too.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

The doctor says that Dad has something in his lungs. Some kind of infection, or growth? I don’t know, I don’t really understand it. She’s put together a treatment plan and says she’s had a lot of success with other patients. Pa says we shouldn’t worry, the doctor knows what she’s doing. ~~But~~ He’s probably right.

How long before you come home? It would be good to have you back. Even just for a visit. It would help, I think, for Dad to see you. We all miss you, you know.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

The doctor’s treatments aren’t working. She says there are other things she can try, that she’s optimistic, but...I don’t know. It’s serious, Kori. Please come home.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Darling Emma,

I received your letter. Forgive me for reading it, but Kori has not been staying here for weeks now. She set off to ‘get a taste of the open road,’ as she put it. She’s got that wanderlust, you know. I don’t know her exact location but I do know the direction she took, and I’ve done my best to forward your letter. With a little luck (and a little magic), it should find her.

I’m packing my bags and will be heading up within the next day or two. If Theo is sick, I want to be there.

May fireflies light your way in the dark,  
Auntie Violet

 

* * *

 

Em,

Got your letter. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

-Kori

 

* * *

 

Kori,

Where the HELL did you go? No one’s seen you since Thursday, and Dad & Pa have been worried _sick._ They’re convinced you must be dead in a ditch somewhere, even though Violet did some magical hoo-ha and swears you’re just fine. It’s not good for Dad to worry like this, Kori, the stress is only going to make him worse.

So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come back, and you’re going to do it _immediately._ Because if you don’t, I swear to everything holy that I will kick your ass from here to the Blighted Sea.

And don’t you dare pretend you didn’t get this letter. Violet magicked it and she says it can find you anywhere, so no excuses.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

OK, I’m worried. Violet still says you’re fine but I don’t trust her magic. Dad’s getting worse by the day. Please come back, Kori. Please. Your family needs you. Dad needs you. _I_ need you. I can’t lose you both. I can’t. Please, just let me know you’re OK.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Em,

I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just hard, you know? I’ll come back, I promise. Just not yet.

-Kori

 

* * *

 

Kori,

No. It’s not fine. How fucking _dare_ you. Dad is _dying,_ can you not understand that? You don’t get to think about yourself right now. You don’t get to run away and pretend that nothing’s wrong. He needs you. Get your head out of your selfish ass and come the _hell_ back. Right now. No excuses. This is not the time for your shit.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Dear Kori,

I’m sorry. I love you. Look, it’s OK, I forgive you, just come back. I promise I won’t give you shit about it, alright? Dad wants to see you. If you don’t come now, you might not get the chance to say goodbye.

Love,  
Emma

 

* * *

 

Kori,

He’s dead. I hope you’re happy.

-Emma


	4. Work: Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Kori kills a man._
> 
> **CW:** Graphic depiction of death.

Kori twisted her blade, watching with fierce eyes as her target cried out, his hands grasping desperately – uselessly – at the deadly metal. She waited as he struggled, waited until his arms fell to his sides, until his eyes fluttered and rolled back, until his breath began to come in short, stuttering gasps. Then she pulled her sword from his belly and let him slide down the wall.

He really shouldn’t have fought back.

She knelt by the dying man and drew the flat of her blade across his shoulder, wiping away the blood, then slipped both her swords back into their sheath. He was still breathing, if only barely. No matter: that wouldn’t last long.

She watched the tenuous rise and fall of his chest with a grim expression. She liked her job, she really did. She enjoyed the fighting, the chase, the danger and the challenge. She didn’t even mind the killing, really – she’d killed often enough as a run-of-the-mill merc.

But this part...the watching, the waiting – bearing witness as the life evaporated from a body...

The movement of his chest grew weaker by the moment, and his head rolled listlessly to the side. One more breath...then another...

...then nothing.

Kori sighed. It was easier this way, she supposed. No slow, drawn-out journey back; no awkward, idle conversation; no risk of him escaping or attacking her.

Easier, yes. But not better.

Ah well.

Kori pulled her dagger from her belt. The baron would want his head, as proof.

She set to work.


End file.
